Genealogical Treasures

1933 Seth Thomas Mantel Clock

I'm the oldest child and I married an oldest child.  My dad and my mom were oldest children. My wife was the daughter of an only boy (who had sisters) and an only child.  My dad's father was the last surviving child of two parents who "stayed home." As a result we have slowly become the curators of old family things.  Neither of us started out this way - but as time has passed the treasures filtered in. This is a story about some of those treasures and their original owners.

Back in December, I had a blog titled: Genealogy - Antebellum Ambrotypes. In that blog I talked about one of the treasures, an ambrotype, that may have been an ancestor of my wife. That one was a mystery.  Some of the others are also mysteries that are largely solved. 

Starting with one we know confidently is the 1933 Seth Thomas Mantel clock.  This clock belonged to my wife's grandparents, John and Mary Robinson.  They received or purchased it as they set up house in Nashville after they were married in August of 1933. It's an eight-day clock but now does require winding about every five or six days.

Keeping on the timekeeping theme we became the curators of several watches. Among them four pocket watches and two wristwatches which still operate. I usually wear the 1961 Elgin Sportsman that belonged to my father-in-law.  I occasionally wear the 1934 Hamilton Dixon that belonged to my grandfather, Ira Huckaby.

He had received the watch from a regular passenger, Anna Martz, while he was a taxi driver in Pensacola, FL.  She had helped him secure employment at Pensacola Naval Air Station and wanted him to have a nice watch to wear on the job. Sentimentally, he gifted to me when I started work after college. 

Of the four pocket watches two of them still keep great time and ironically, they are the oldest of the four. One is a 1911 Lady's Elgin time piece.  This one had belonged to my great-grandmother, Mary Ellen Wylie McCown. There is no special occasion that lines up with that date; however, her husband and my great-grandfather, Sylvester McCown, was spending a lot of time away from home in Louisiana working some logging operations between 1910 and 1915 (based upon 1910 Census data and Family Letters).

We don't have any correspondence that accompanied the gift, if indeed it was a gift from Sylvester to Mary Ellen, but an Appalachian style log cabin was engraved on the front surface of the watch case. Maybe this was to indicate a longing to be home with her.

The other fully functioning pocket watch is an 1879 American Watch Company (pre-cursor to Waltham) time piece.  The provenance on this one is not perfectly known but can be reasonably deduced. My dad gave the watch to me one Christmas about eight years ago. It was one of two "family heirlooms" that he was parting with.  (The other was an 1880's 38 caliber pistol that my brother received.) 

What dad knew about the watch was that his dad, Herbert, had only reported that it was his dad's (Sylvester) watch. However, this was a lady's watch! That meant the watch must have been his mother's or one of his grandmother's.

Sylvester's mother, Henrietta, is the most likely original owner of the watch. The 1879 manufacture date is closely aligned with her and her husband's (Monroe), 20th Wedding Anniversary in 1880. The watch didn't belong to his mother, because she had died in 1842 and his stepmother had living biological children. Similarly, Henrietta's mother died in the early 1840s and her stepmother also had living biological children. However, it is clear that Monroe and Henrietta took care of Henrietta's father's estate and her mother remained there until her death in 1888.  It is possible the watch belonged to her, but she would have received it at the age of 73 on no particular occasion. 

Among the other treasures are dishes, flatware (some silverplated but not Sterling), cameras (still and 8mm movie), nicknacks, coins (foreign and domestic), photos, letters, books, furniture and a jug. The last two have an interesting enough story to expand on in this blog.

Nashville Pottery Jug and our Farmhouse Chairs

We have a jug on our fireplace that was in the home of Tammy's mother.  I made a comment about how cool it was and suddenly it showed up at our house well over a decade ago. According to my mother-in-law it was her great-grandfather, Balum Robinson's, whiskey jug. That may be true, but it smells like it was used for several years as either a spittoon or as a used pipe tobacco receptacle. 

Then there are the six farmhouse chairs.  My wife's parents brought them to us when they downsized.  They couldn't get rid of them, but they didn't need or have room for them either. These had belonged to her dad's great aunt (Alma) and her husband (Jack). However, Jack was an only child and had obtained the furniture from his parents, Charles and Eugenia Gordon who had gotten them when they set up housekeeping after they married in 1901.

Here is something ironic. My father-in-law is the grandnephew of the original owner's daughter-in-law.  That makes me two in-law connections away coming into possession of these.  Except, because of Wikitree, and some genealogical sleuthing, I discovered the chairs belonged to second cousin I never knew I had. Eugenia and I share a great-grandfather (my fifth great-grandfather), Joseph Matthews, whose father, James, was a Revolutionary War soldier who participated in the Battle of Alamance.  

(You knew I was going to bring the topic back to the Revolutionary War didn't you!)

In the end, these objects remind me that family history isn’t just names and dates; it’s the quiet trail of things people loved, used, repaired, and passed down. I'll tell the stories. I'll be a steward of these treasures for a time. Perhaps these treasures will survive yet another generation or two with their stories intact. But at some point, if they survive, someone else will be the steward for a time.

AFTERWARDS:  A little more research is still required to fully support all the connections of the Matthew's family line, though the connection seems probable.

 

 

The American Revolution - Quick as you can say "Jack Robinson"

 

1911 Pocket Watch of John Robinson

There’s an old expression: Quick as you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ Its exact origin is uncertain, but it appears at least as early as 1778 in Frances Burney’s novel Evelina. It has always meant simply: “very quickly.” And such were the events of the American Revolution. From the first shots fired in April 1775 to the far‑flung states declaring their independence through the Continental Congress, only a short year and three months had passed.

The United States was on its way to nationhood as quick as you can say "Jack Robinson."

As you may know “Jack” and “John” are really the same name. Jack grew out of a Middle English habit of adding ‑kin to names to make them affectionate or diminutive — a bit like saying “little John” or “dear John.” You still hear that old suffix in nursery rhymes like “Where is Thumbkin?” And it’s not far from the way modern Spanish adds ‑ito or ‑ita to soften or miniaturize a word.

Over time, the spoken diminutive John‑kin shifted in pronunciation and spelling as people wrote it the way they heard it. The path looks something like this: John → Johnkin / Jonkin → Jankin → Jackin → Jack

So, that brings me to John Robinson, my fifth great-grandfather. I discovered the Robinsons in my family tree fairly recently as I traced a clue left by a single piece of paper stating that my well-established 3rd great-grandfather, James Terry, was first married to a Sarah Roberton or Robinson. I was eventually able to prove that it was actually Robinson and that she and James were connected by Wills to the Robinsons whose well-heeled family came from Hewick Plantation.

John is recognized by the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) as a patriot. John was living in Amherst, VA during the conflict. He was in his late 30s when independence was declared, but there is no evidence he went off to war. He did, however, submit to Virginia's taxation to support the American war effort in 1782.

John was flanked by two other of my ancestors that are considered patriots. John's father, William I, and his son, William II. John's father provided beef and blacksmith work (probably actually performed by plantation workers) for the Virginia militia. He was reported by SAR to have been an "Adjutant of the 9th Virginia Regiment and later annexed to the 5th Virginia Regiment." At the time of the Revolution William I was sixty-seven years old.  His post as Adjunct was probably more honorary than functional with a focus on raising any necessary defense in his Urbanna community. At least one of William I's brothers, Beverley, chose to remain loyal to Britain. And as quick as you can say "Jack Robinson" the family was split like the British / American bond.

John's son, William II, was also a patriot. He was a Lieutenant during the Revolutionary war, serving with Capt. Givings and Col. Huggart. He marched from Augusta County Va. when Lord Cornwallis came to Virginia, and Tarleton plundered Charlottesville, to Albemarle, then variously through the Country. During the war he apparently met a saddler named Thomas Terry. Thomas, one of my fourth great grandfathers, had sons and William had daughters and quick as you can say Jack Robinson - a family alliance was formed as four of Thomas's sons married four of William's daughters.

Well, John Robinson shows up everywhere. As I draw this blog to a close - My wife's grandfather was also named John Robinson and his uncle was named John Robinson.  This last John Robinson owned a pocket watch purchased in 1911 - which my wife and I have come into possession of.

Now quick as you can say "Jack Robinson" - this story of a family of patriots is done.

AFTERWARDS: The two Williams here were not named with the suffix I and II, but I used them here to help keep them distinguished from each other in the blog.

American Revolution - A Family Affair

 

Minutemen who fought at Lexington

In thinking about the American Revolution that will culminate in a celebration of our 250th Anniversary on 4 July 2026, I became aware of my family ties to the revolution, but also how closely related the participants were.

The Memorial to the Lexington Minutemen lists seventy-eight individuals. Col Parker, who led the minutemen at Lexington is thought to have had one hundred and thirty-four men. Those men are identified at this LINK. 

Of the names on the list, I seem to be cousins or nephews of just over half of Parker's Minutemen.  Some of them are not particularly close relatives. For example: Daniel Mason is my seventeenth cousin ten times removed - if we believe the genealogy that well.  According to the shared tree of Wikitree, Daniel and I share a grandmother, Adeline de Montfort, who was born in the 11th Century in France. 

However, some are very close relatives.  In fact, four of them are uncles. Two of them are fourth great uncles, Solomon Brown and James Brown. Solomon and James were brothers of my fourth great grandfather, Oliver, who my father, grandfather, great aunt, and probably great-grandmother used to get into the Sons or Daughters of the American Revolution. (Oliver and Solomon have been mentioned in other blogs about the revolution I have done.) The other two, Nathan and Hammond Reed are fifth great uncles. It is no surprise, though, because, Nathan and Hammond are Oliver, Solomon, and James' uncles (Brothers of their mother, Sarah).

I have four first cousins in the mix, Francis and John Brown and Nathan and Thaddeus Reed. Francis, who served as a Sergeant, was wounded at Lexington.  He was hit by a musket ball that entered his cheek and lodged in his neck. Despite the injury he commanded the company in 1776 and lived twenty-five more years. John was killed on that day while attempting to flee the Lexington Grounds.

In Parker's company, I have fourteen second cousins.  One of them, Isaac Muzzy gave his life on the Green during the first shots of the Revolution and another, Joseph Comee, was wounded in the arm near the town's powder magazine not far from where fourth cousin, Caleb Harrington, was killed. Third cousin, Joseph Simonds, retreated back into the magazine and was ready to ignite the gunpowder with his flintlock if the British Regulars entered.

In total there were over 60 men in Col. Parker's minutemen of whom I am fourth cousins or closer. Quite simply this is because most of the people in the region during years leading up to the Revolution were closely related. So, if you are descended from one you are closely related to all.

We often think of the Battles of Lexington and Concord in romantic or idealistic ways.  The truth is that it was messy and it was a disaster for the British, because they initiated something they were trying to prevent.  It was a tragedy for the people of Lexington and Concord - because many of their relatives and friends died on that bloody Spring day. 

Spring Day at the North Bridge at Concord

The Revolution didn’t begin with glory—it began with confusion, fear, grief, and the loss of people who were deeply loved. But from that messy, tragic morning emerged a nation that would grow into something far larger than any of them could have imagined. And perhaps the best way to honor them, especially on the 250th anniversary, is to remember them not as symbols but as real people whose lives—and deaths—still ripple outward into our own.

Adventures in Latin America

Alausí, Ecuador in March 2023

I was recently reminded of an event that occurred while I was in Ecuador in March of 2023.  I had been participating in a Christian youth camp in the town of La Maná.  I was with a couple of other workers (Rick and DeAnna) there that wanted to visit Cuenca.  None of us had visited it before so we traveled there.  Once we had taken Cuenca in, we began our trek back to Quito from which we would take a plane back home.

It was March and the weather had been very rainy. Our return from Quito took us through the small Andean village of Alausi from which we would take the Panamerican Highway back to Quito.

Alausí is in a valley that hugs some steep mountain slopes. These slopes have deep ravines and unstable volcanic soils.  With the record rains the region was experiencing that month a disaster was in the making.

When we approached Alausí we encountered a partially blockaded road with a warning sign - but no clear detour other than to return to where we had been.  Rick, who spent his youth in Ecuador (and therefore our expert) urged DeAnna, who was driving at the time, to continue through it.  The town was close by.  So, we did. We saw the road to the town but decided to proceed as everything still looked fine.  Suddenly we were blocked by a small landslide that had earlier covered over the road.

Makeshift Road around Landslide

There was a makeshift road downslope from edge of the landslide, so we drove down to look at it. Upon inspection we determined it was only fit for motorcycles and high clearance off road vehicles.  We turned around and headed into the town.

Rick talked to some of the locals and discovered that not only was the road impassable, but the alternative route through the town to the Panamerican Highway was blocked by a protest. Locals had decided to use the landslide as a way to express their grievances about insufficient infrastructure from the government.  There was a path to the Panamerican, but it would be an adventure.

We decided to get a bite to eat in a restaurant that was open in the town before we set out on this two-hour detour.  It wasn't a place we would have chosen normally, but it was open. We had some pollo y papas fritas. It was acceptable but not particularly good.

We got back in the car and Rick took the wheel. We followed the instructions to take a winding gravel road over a mountain on to Guamote.  We drove about fifteen minutes and encountered a fork in the road.  We took one of the forks.  It led us back into the town.  So we returned to the road and took it back to the fork then we took the other one.

The trip was nearly two hours long.  The path was foggy with frequent light rain.  Streams of water washed down the road on one side or the other, occasionally snaking across the road in small, but crossable creeks. Cars and trucks were inching past each other as we all competed to make a one lane gravel path a two-lane thoroughfare. 

If front of us were locals who had procured a taxi to evacuate Alausí.  Every few hundred meters they would get out of the taxi and walk behind it as it inched ahead.  Apparently, they feared he would careen over the side of mountain.

For us, Rick drove slowly and intently.  I looked over the edge to assure his tires would remain on the road. DeAnna was our prayer warrior from the back seat.

When we arrived at the Panamerican Highway, we stopped for a restroom break and to refuel.  I took over the driving the remainder of the way to our hotel near the Quito airport. 

We thought our adventures were over. They were, but later the next day we learned that the small landslide had grown into a large landslide a short eighteen hours after our time there.  It filled the stadium in Alausí (which is visible in the first image). Where we had been was now under the mountain.  Even today, three years later, they have not found all the victims, and it remains dangerously unstable.

It was certainly an adventure the three of us will never forget!

AFTERWARD: There are links for videos hyperlinked to to some of the text above.

A Valentine's Wish

 Valentine Poetry from an Ancestor

I'm not the greatest romantic.  In fact, I'm pretty bad at it.  I have written a poem or two to my bride.  But we have been married nearly forty years, so a poem or two is not what you would call a romantic.

I discovered this Valentine's Day note that my 2nd Great Grandfather, Robert Wylie, to my 2nd Great Grandmother, Betty Blume, years ago when I was clearing out my parents' house for my mom to move. This letter was written in 1857.  At that time Robert and Betty were not yet married.  Robert was twenty years old. 

The content of the poem written 169 years ago today is as follows:

I can’t forget thee now.

In happier days I saw thee fram (sic)

                Across my lonely way;

Thy life became the morning dream

                That tells of coming day;

Full long in that bright dream I dwelt

                With gay unclouded brow;

Ah! Me, the bliss of heaven I felt,

                And can’t forget thee now.

The gloom of fate’s unpitying frown

                Is on my spirit cast

My star in darkness has gone down,

                My best of life is past;

But though the seas overwhelm me quite.

                And hid my sinking prow-

I love thee mid this awful night,

                And can’t forget thee now.

Though other charms may brightly woo,

                My heart to feel their power,

And other hearts may bless them, too,

                In youth’s warm passionate hour,

On me their rays shall gently fall,

                Nor will I breathe one vow

To those – to thine – I gave them all,

                And can’t to other now.

                                                “Valentine”

Winfield, VA - Feby: 14^th 1857

Not being an expert on poetry or on the style or significance of such a poem, I asked AI Co-Pilot for a little context by asking:  "What might be lost on us today in the contents of this Valentine note from 1857?"

Here is its reply.

1. This is not casual affection — it’s dangerously earnest

Victorian courtship culture treated romantic declarations as morally weighty. A note like this wasn’t “cute.” It was closer to a vow, almost a proto‑engagement gesture.

To say: “I can’t forget thee now.” was not wistful; it was binding.

He’s essentially saying: My heart is already pledged, and I cannot undo it. That level of emotional exposure would have been understood as serious, even risky.

2. The language of “fate,” “gloom,” and “darkness” is standard Victorian melodrama

To us it reads like someone being dramatic. To them, this was the expected emotional register of romantic poetry.

Mid‑century sentimental literature leaned heavily on:

• fate, stars, storms, sinking ships, heaven and bliss, unpitying destiny

These weren’t exaggerations; they were the grammar of love.

3. The nautical metaphor (“my sinking prow”) was instantly recognizable

A “prow” is the forward-most part of a ship. To say it is sinking is to say:

• my life is going under, I am overwhelmed, I am losing direction.

Victorian readers were steeped in maritime imagery — shipwrecks, storms, and voyages were common metaphors for emotional states.

Today, we might read it as oddly dramatic. In 1857, it was a familiar emotional shorthand.

4. “Other charms may brightly woo” is a moral statement, not just a romantic one

He’s not simply saying he’s not interested in other women. He’s declaring moral fidelity.

In that era: A man’s constancy was a measure of his character. To “breathe one vow” to another woman would be dishonorable. Declaring exclusive affection was a public claim of integrity.

This is a virtue statement, not just a love statement.

5. “Valentine” as a signature was normal — and strategic

Signing simply “Valentine” was a common practice. It allowed: plausible deniability; a socially acceptable veil of anonymity; a way to express affection without violating propriety

Courtship was heavily supervised. A man could not always openly declare interest without risking scandal. A Valentine allowed him to say what he could not say aloud.

6. The emotional arc is one of lost hope, not new love

This is not a “please love me” poem. It’s a “you were my hope, and now I am undone” poem.

He writes as someone who believes: the relationship is impossible; his life’s “star” has gone down; he is resigned to sorrow; but he remains faithful

This is the emotional register of romantic tragedy, not flirtation.

7. The setting — Winfield, VA, 1857 — adds a layer we feel but don’t name

This is pre‑Civil War Virginia. People lived with: uncertainty; economic fragility; looming national conflict; strict social codes around marriage and class

A love that could not be fulfilled was not uncommon. The poem’s fatalism would have felt realistic, not theatrical.

Well - the good news is that despite the fatalism and temporary loss of hope. Their love endured. They married in 1863 and remained married until her death in 1920 a couple months before their 57th wedding anniversary.

American Revolution - Journalistic Bias

 

Boston Massacre - by Paul Revere

In the current celebration of the 250th anniversary of our United States and the polarized environment today where one news source says one thing and the other says exactly the opposite, I asked Co-Pilot AI to create a couple of fictitious news articles assuming one source to be Loyalist leaning and the other to be Patriot leaning. This is simultaneously instructive, entertaining, and foreboding. The more things change the more they stay the same.

Loyalist News Source

BOSTON — March 6, 1770 Tensions in Boston reached a tragic climax last night when an unruly mob of colonists confronted a small detachment of His Majesty’s soldiers, resulting in several civilian deaths. British officials are urging calm and calling for a full investigation, emphasizing that the soldiers were provoked, surrounded, and acting in self‑defense.

Eyewitnesses loyal to the Crown report that the crowd—many of them known agitators aligned with radical groups like the Sons of Liberty—were throwing snow, ice, clubs, and insults at the soldiers stationed outside the Customs House. As the mob pressed closer, witnesses say the soldiers feared for their lives.

Captain Thomas Preston, who was present at the scene, maintains that no order to fire was given, and that the shots were discharged only after the crowd escalated the violence. Loyalist commentators warn that colonial radicals are already attempting to politicize the tragedy, using it to inflame anti‑British sentiment and undermine lawful authority.

British officials stress that the troops were stationed in Boston to maintain order after months of harassment, vandalism, and tax resistance. They caution colonists not to rush to judgment and to remember that law and stability depend on respect for the Crown’s peacekeeping forces.

Patriot News Source

BOSTON — March 6, 1770 The streets of Boston are in mourning today after British soldiers opened fire on unarmed colonists, killing five and wounding several others in what residents are calling a brutal and unjustified attack.

Witnesses describe a tense but nonviolent gathering outside the Customs House, where townspeople had assembled to protest the ongoing military occupation of their city. The presence of armed Redcoats—sent by Parliament to enforce unpopular taxes—has long been a source of fear and resentment among Bostonians.

According to multiple colonists at the scene, the soldiers responded to verbal criticism with loaded muskets, escalating a street dispute into a deadly confrontation. Many insist that the troops fired without provocation, and that the massacre reveals the true nature of British rule: coercive, unaccountable, and indifferent to colonial lives.

Patriot leaders, including Samuel Adams, are demanding immediate justice and calling the event a turning point in the struggle for colonial rights. They argue that as long as British troops occupy American streets, no colonist is safe.

Residents gathered today at Faneuil Hall to mourn the victims and to reaffirm their commitment to resisting tyranny. The names of the dead—Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, James Caldwell, Samuel Maverick, and Patrick Carr—are already becoming symbols of the growing movement for liberty.

American Revolution - Tavern Talk

 

Wright Tavern

I was raised in a southern United States conservative Christian household near the middle of the 20th Century. That was only a few decades after Prohibition ended. My grandparents were raised during that prohibition period and had raised my parents to not only avoid alcohol but to avoid all appearances of it.

In my early days, we seldom ate outside our homes - but if we did it would be at a restaurant that did not serve alcohol - typically diners, buffets, or fast-food places. With no more than two or three exceptions, it would not be until I was an adult before I ate in a restaurant that had a bar in it.

Doctor Benjamin Rush produced his assessment of alcohol in An Inquiry into the Effects of Ardent Spirits in 1794. This work in some ways led to the formation of the American Temperance Society in 1826. The influence of this movement took hold in many Christian fellowships as groups like the Woman's Christian Temperance Union was formed in 1874 that tied temperance to Christian principals. Scriptures like Ephesians 5:18 that says, "...be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess, but be filled with the Spirit" and Proverbs 23 which describes the dangerous allure of alcohol were used to connect alcohol consumption to unchristian behavior. 

These associations were not always true as is evident from my fourth great-grandfather, Timothy Bates, who in the early 19th Century was a Christian minister and a distiller of whiskey - sometimes holding worship services in his distillery with a whiskey barrel serving as a pulpit. About a hundred years later, in 1920, the United States banned consumable alcohol for the good of its people. So, a few decades after that experiment was repealed, words like Pub, Bar, or Tavern were still synonymous with places good Christians should not frequent. Yet to Colonial America - the very world that shaped the early American church - taverns were indispensable.

Colonial America, Taverns were the hub of social activity. At a tavern you could get food, a drink, a warm fire, and often a bed and a stable for your horse. Not only that you could get the news from the next county or from the big cities.  Newspapers were shared. Political discussions would abound.  Business transactions would be made. Taverns were the place to have your mail sent a picked up. The local tavern was the place to see and be seen. 

Taverns often had rooms set aside for meetings.  Committees of Safety would often meet there to discuss the needs for and of local militia and Committees of Correspondence would meet to determine how to maintain communication. In 1783, the Confederation Congress fled Philadelphia for fear that British forces would arrest them. They reconvened in Trenton, New Jersey at the French Arms Tavern. 

We still gather — but rarely in the same room, hearing the same news, sharing the same fire. The tavern once held a community together. Today, our conversations scatter across screens and platforms, and the shared civic hearth has grown dim. The Colonial tavern, once indispensable, has become a relic of a time gone by.